The Fly-by
The sky is a summer’s day blue
and clouds like stretched cotton balls
sit atop the dove gray water bearers.
I sit, for the first time since I arrived,
doing nothing, perched on a deck chair.
Suddenly, my frigate birds
and the brown pelican with the white-striped head appear,
the frigates looking like hang gliders,
the pelicans like helmeted pilots.
The sky turns gray—rain is imminent,
but I vow to sit, to enjoy the fly-by.
The birds hover like dark specters,
silhouetted against the leaden sky.
The air currents sustain them;
the frigates’ tails appear as legs.
I marvel at their gracefulness.
The ziplock bag has my valuables.
Even if it rains, I’m going to sit, to pray, to be thankful
for yellow flowers and turquoise waters.
I feel the tension draining away
as I enjoy a found few minutes
to be free from the work of the day. Amen.